


Octokittens (And some theories on how they might have come about)

by justawordwright



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Crack, Gen, Horror, The Mechanisms-Typical Violence, cos its four short stories so warnings are per story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justawordwright/pseuds/justawordwright
Summary: What it says on the tin. The tin that says octokitten origin stories. Not the tin of octokitten food. I mean, you could feed them this. It might not go down well though, but why don’t you see? Worst case is they’ll eat you for dessert. I’m sure you can just sleep that off though if you’re on the Aurora. Oh, you’re not immortal? Bad idea coming here then. I’d leave now, the octokittens are the least of your worries. Try not to get shot on your way out, but yes, I’ll give the octokittens a pet for you. They are very pettable.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	Octokittens (And some theories on how they might have come about)

**Author's Note:**

> I. uh. well this happened. Warnings for animal death in the first two stories, maybe something nearing animal experimentation in the first and some blood+knife based magic in story 3.

**1.**

Maris sighed and pointedly didn’t check the clock again as Robert huffed. It was dragging on past three by now – probably was almost three twenty-three, based on the last time she hadn’t checked – and the new batch of hatchlings was clearly late. The lab techs wouldn’t let what they called the `keyboard prodders’ and `chalkies’ near any of the experiments once they were running (Maris might have been offended by this and the names, if she and the rest of the team didn’t occasionally call the techs `chem heads without an original thought in their heads, who can only implement others genius’ and besides, they did need the practical hands), but the techs had promised to come and get the design team when the hatching started, and that was supposed to have been induced hours ago.

She was proud of this one, it was her first Lead, even if it had just been for a billionaire with too much money and a desire for a particularly… unique… pet, rather than something that really pushed the field forward. Isolating the right genes had still been a right bastard of a task though, not to mention splicing everything together properly. At least the all the scans had looked good so far.

The coffee in her mug had gone cold when she took an experimental sip and she debated risking a trip to the common room to get a fresh one. It was three twenty-eight. She downed the cold liquid, pulling a face at the bitter dregs in the bottom and turned back to her computer screen.

Three forty-six. Three fifty-nine.

An exhausted techie stuck their head into the room. Maris thought their name was Sam. That or Alex, but either way they looked flushed, hair damp with sweat and globs of the blue grow-mix the techs kept the projects in dripping down the side of their face. “I-uh. I was sent to get you? Dr Higgins says he’s expecting the first breach within the next fifteen minutes.”

Pretty much everyone in the room leapt up at that, and Maris followed them to the observation room attached to Lab Three, where her project had been growing for the last year. Alex-or-Sam was handing out data-pads with various information about heartbeats and brain activity levels and trying to translate the information for the geneticists. She barely glanced at the pad they handed her though, stood at the observation window, staring into the lab. They were in there, those twenty-four vats of blue slime, techies flittering around them, where her babies grew. If she squinted, she thought she could just about see the shadowy outlines of the things she had designed, hidden within their protective cocoons.

“Hey look, Tank Two is about to birth!” Probably-Alex pointed from her side to where the techs were starting to swarm. A trolley was being brought over, oxygen tanks and masks ready if needed along with the scales and towels for a good birthing.

Maris nodded, watching as the top of the liquid bubbled and stretched, and then a small head burst out. It was black and feline, its eyes screwed shut and its fur plastered to its skull. A tech hurried forward to start pulling it from the tank as the liquid in the other twenty-three tanks started to shift.

The cat mewed as the tech’s hands closed around its body, shuddering and its fur rippling orange. Maris grinned, seeing her gene splicing had worked. It had been a difficult request, a colour changing cat, and attempts to splice in genes from chameleons and golden tortoise beetles had each failed, but eventually she’d thought to try an octopus and it seemed like this time it had stuck. Behind her, she could hear her team congratulating each other on a successful job. Maris wasn’t going to take her eyes off her creation though, not until it was properly checked over and given the all-clear health-wise.

The techie pulled the cat up out of the vat, slowly revealing it inch by inch. Maris’s eyebrows creased as she realised it had no front legs. Not a total success then, she sighed. At least she could pull the genome from this one, and try to see where things had gone wrong. Or maybe the others would be fine. The techie kept lifting it out of the vat though.

There were too many legs.

Eight sucker-covered legs twitched as the cat (no-octopus-no-octocat-octokitten? Maris wasn’t sure) squirmed in the tech’s hands, its eyes snapping open to show bright red irises. The techie dropped it.

It hissed and launched itself at the man, wrapping its too-many legs about his face and biting down, as the other tanks exploded with their own octokittens. Maris watched white-faced as the techies that had been too close were dragged to the floor under the weight of the octokittens, flesh quickly being stripped from their bones. Those techies lucky enough to have been near enough to the door scrambled frantically for it, three getting through before the octokittens were lapping at the heels of those still inside. The door was slammed shut as Dr Higgins pawed at it, even as he was submerged in fur and teeth, the people barring it from the other side clearly visible through the door’s small window as they watched the kittens feast and then disperse, leaving nothing but a sticky patch on the floor and some red-stained fabric.

Maris could see Definitely-Alex shaking by her side, face pale and breath acrid. Behind her, people were crying, someone had called security. Most of them were leaving.

“Were they supposed to be like that?” Alex whispered.

Maris shrugged. “They were just supposed to be colour changing cats. I’m not sure where it went wrong really. I’ll get it right next time.”

They shook their head and filed out with the others. Maris stood and watched as the octokittens huddled together, mewling, and the security guards arrived, guns blazing. The octokittens fought back, of course they did, but soon Maris was stood over twenty small, bloodied corpses.

Twenty, she thought, a probably sick bit of pride curling in her belly. Four of them were still out there, escaped in the vents. Her creations, no matter what they were like.

She hoped they thrived.

**2.**

The ship was a wreck. It was clear on the maps that that was the case, and it was why Hans and Albrecht were visiting it, they were scrap dealers after all. They’d fallen on hard times, and they’d heard that there was a valuable cargo on board, valuable enough to set themselves up for several lifetimes of luxury.

Neither of them thought to wonder exactly what had destroyed the ship in the first place. Nor why no one had successfully claimed the wreck for themselves in the time since the ship had been destroyed. It had been a long time since then, long enough no one could really remember exactly how long.

Anyway, they had set out from New Venus in their little trawler and after a couple of weeks, their target had crested over the bottom of their screens, vast and red and crumbling. A small cluster of other trawlers hovered at its side, each of them battered and solar-worn, but not quite as much as the ginormous ship they clung to like limpets. None of them looked particularly recent either, so Hans shrugged and steered their own ship in closer. They weren’t competition, and they’d serve a handy bonus if there was any hold space left on the way back. Hans thought he recognised a couple of builds that were currently in vogue due to having crossed into the vintage territory, and that always pushed the prices up for already expensive spare parts.

The boosters flipped to reverse, the Jaunty Clipper came to a shuddering halt. Hans slowly shut the systems off and went to join his brother in the cargo hold. Albrecht was already suited up and checking his oxygen tank, so Hans chucked his own spacesuit on over his clothes before picking up one of the large maglev torches. Sealing his helmet, he flicked the switch to start the process of opening the cargo bay door. The fans whined, sucking the air out of the room until they just went silent, even as the blades still turned. Only when the blades stopped did the door judder upwards, metal folding in on itself, impossibly quiet, revealing the gaping hole in the wreck they had pulled up next to.

It alone dwarfed the Jaunty Clipper, yet it was tiny in comparison to the hull of the wreck it was set into. Flashing his light about, the beam disappearing into the dark, just barely catching a few beams and supports in the faint light, Hans wondered if this was what a flea felt like, trying to comprehend the extremity of its host.

“Ready?” Albrecht’s voice crackled over their intercom and Hans was about to reply in the affirmative when he noticed something floating in the space between them and the wreck. It was pink, and clearly not space debris or a broken bit of ship, though it was too far away to tell what it was exactly.

“Give me a second,” Hans answered, shooting a grappler chain out to retrieve the item. It came shooting back in with no inertia behind it, and Hans was surprised to have a small child’s doll drop into his hand. The fabric was a bit worn and faded and ratty, but he could still see a thin line of stitches picking out a smile, and two black buttons for eyes and some red wool for hair. He smiled and wondered who it had belonged to and if it’d make a nice present for his friend’s daughter. Carin always liked souvenirs of his trips.

Albrecht jumped past him, throwing himself out into the hole. “Come on, we don’t have time for kids toys. The oxygen tanks won't last all day, we need to get a move on.”

Hans rolled his eyes but never the less let go of the doll, watching it float away and followed his brother into the wreck.

He landed in a tall, narrow corridor with handholds spaced out evenly down the walls and ceiling. Albrecht was clung to one of them, fiddling with a gyroscope. “Let's try for the centre? Cargo bay should be somewhere near there,” said Albrecht.

Hans nodded and pushed off down the corridor. It was long and labyrinthine, with the occasional junction, and at each Albrecht checked the gyroscope before leading them down it or not. There weren’t any signs anywhere, at least not any that had survived the test of time. Hans noticed the occasional stripe of white paint against the major green in the few places where it hadn’t been consumed by bubbling rust, a single chipped or faded letter or stripe holding out by itself. He didn’t recognise the alphabet though, all harsh lines and corners. Here almost half a dozen letters survived, scattered across three lines, at least that was what Hans assumed, he wasn’t sure exactly what direction the text was supposed to be read in. Most of the letters were some form of an upright stick with a horizontal or diagonal branch off, but there was one that almost looked like an ‘R’ in Standard, with the stem removed. Another looked like a more jagged ‘s’ or ‘5’. He knew it had to mean something – and on a ship like this, it was probably some sort of area designation. If only he could read it. If only it wasn’t so damaged.

Slowly, he ran a gloved finger across the text, knocking chips of paint loose. They flocked around his hand, suspended in the ether and dancing slowly in the light of his torchlight.

Shaking his head, he pushed off after Albrecht again, who he’d let get ahead of him as he tried to puzzle out the script. His brother had already disappeared around a sequence of corners, and Han’s stomach rolled as he passed off shooting corridors, still with no sign of Albrecht. He was sure his brother wouldn’t leave the corridor they were on without warning him. He was sure.

Oh, how he wished there was a map of this place. That would make things so much easier.

There was a sharp popping noise from around the bend.

Hans floated onwards, his torch catching on a sheet of greying paper behind a panel of glass on the wall opposite him. There was a drawing on it. A drawing of the ship. Six silhouettes of the hull, with a layout of its snaking corridors set out inside each, and on one a small red circle with the words ‘you are here’ written in Standard above it. Apparently he was on Level Three, in Quadrant Two, Sector Six. It was a residential area, and directly above him, two floors up was the nav-deck, while the cargo bays were a floor down and maybe two corridors away.

That was useful to know. Hans batted away another one of those dolls and continued onwards.

Two more corners and he found his brother pounding on a closed door, fists silently clattering into the metal and nudging Albrecht away down into the corridor until he bounced back against the door. Hans slid into place next to him as Albrecht stopped and rested against the metal.

“Bloody thing is sealed up tight,” Albrecht said over the comms, kicking at a pair of dolls floating around his feet. “Got the plasma cutter?”

Hans nodded and flicked the switch to begin charging it. “At least the cargo bay’s close. Should be a ladder down on the other side of this.”

Albrecht turned and squinted at him. “How’d you know that?”

“There was a map?”

“I didn’t see one.”

“It was just back there,” Hans said, gesturing vaguely back the way he’d come. “You must have just missed it.”

“I’m not sure I did, I was keeping an eye out for one. It-” Albrecht started to disagree, but the plasma cutter in Hans’ hands burst into life, bright, glowing purple energy spitting into a narrow cutting beam. Albrecht carefully pushed away from the door to let Hans centre himself.

“Whatever. Get this open, Hans.”

The plasma made short work of the metal, Hans quickly inscribing a deep rectangle into the door, shaping the edges of a panel he’d remove to create their entranceway. Clicking the cutter off, he braced himself against the roof of the corridor, and lashed out with his foot, expecting the metal to buckle and the panel to fall in.

The metal shifted under his foot but didn’t budge. There was something behind it. Blocking it.

“A hand?” Hans asked. “The crowbar?”

Albrecht drifted forwards, planting himself in place and stabbing the sharp end of the crowbar through the weakened metal. Then, with Hans’s help, levered the metal up, opening their entranceway.

From out of the black a dozen of the dolls came spiralling. The brothers looked at each other, and Hans drove his hand through the hole. He felt the dense resistance of what must be hundreds of the things, piled up and packed into the corridor. No matter how far he reached, there seemed to be no end to the things.

He pulled his hand out, shaking his head. “No way through.”

Albrecht pointed silently to his hand, the one that Hans had just pulled out of the pile of dolls. Hans looked down.

There was a thin scrap of red fabric twined around his fingers. That wasn’t a surprise, he’d clutched at a lot of the things as he searched for an end to the dolls.

The scattering of white across his palms though. Those were teeth, and they looked humanoid. Half a dozen of them, child-sized and a handful of stumpy cream cylinders that were possibly finger bones.

Hans snatched his hand away, watching them float slowly down the corridor.

Silence for an eternal moment, as the brothers stared each other down.

Albrecht blinked first. “Did your map give an alternate route?”

Hans nodded. There were a couple of corridors they could take, but it would be a complicated route to traverse with many junctions to traverse. He didn’t fancy getting lost. On the other hand, they’d just passed a stairway that would lead them up to the nav-deck and captain’s area. He explained this to Albrecht who sighed and nodded.

“We were going to look for the logs anyway. Lead on then.”

Albrecht followed as Hans showed him back towards their entrance point. He frowned as Hans pointed out the map, but didn’t argue, and together they located the service ladder that would take them up to the control decks. It was simple to follow the ladders up, only pausing to open hatches between the levels. The first time, Hans found the metal hatch shut and unmovable, and he panicked and feared it had been bolted shut, or worse was being held down by more of the dolls. It was a false alarm though, as no more had Hans than wished that the hatch was clear and open, then there was a pop and the thing burst open. Some tenacious rust giving away he decided as he floated through. Must have been.

They made it onto the control deck though. It was a vast thing, more empty space than panels and terminals, all dark red and grey. Hans didn’t spend much time looking at the regular contents of the room though, there were far more interesting things to consider. Like the giant pile of gold and gems spilling over one of the desks and burying the skeleton slumped in the seat. Or the massive dinosaur skeleton that was scattered across the floor. And of course, more of those dolls, hovering aimlessly in the ether.

His brother tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around to look at the wall behind them. There was a cosmonaut’s suit resting at its base, the helmet glass cracked and distorting the image of the empty-eyed skull within. Above it…

Hans didn’t know many languages, but he could guess that each message read the same as the one he could. Two words, blood red and edged with scratches.

_Don’t Wish._

“Wish I knew what that meant,” It took a moment to recognise his wording, his glove slapping over his visor. “I didn’t mean it.”

Albrecht gave him a weary look as there was a pop and a red leather-bound book appeared between them. Hans jumped backwards, clattering against the wall as Albrecht went spinning into one the terminals clutching it viciously. Both of them stared down the book.

Hans broke the stalemate, activating his coms with a hiss of static. “I did the doll room. This is your turn.”

He could imagine Albrecht’s sigh as his brother hesitantly floated over to the book. When it did nothing after a gentle prodding, he cautiously picked it up and started thumbing through it with bulky gloved hands. Hans waited as Albrecht skimmed through it with a look of deep concentration.

Eventually he looked up again, understanding in his eyes. “It says the ship stumbled into an area of latent potential creation so that anything they wished for would manifest. Most of them couldn’t control their desires and were destroyed by their greed.

“We could use this. We could get rich on this. This is it, Hans! Anything we can think of, ours!”

“Anything?” Hans asked quietly.

Albrecht’s eyes flashed as his hands filled with nuggets of dark gold and the glistening white of flawlessly cut diamonds. They spilt out between his fingers, floating into the room. His brother grinned. “Anything. Just be certain about what you’re after. Don’t get distracted. That’s what happened to them.”

Hans nodded, absentmindedly catching one of the gems his brother had created in his hand. It really was perfect, no sign of any defects and, being as long his thumb and almost as wide, worth a small fortune on any planet. With a small bag of those, they’d be rolling in credits, even after paying off their debts.

Across the room, Albrecht was still creating whatever crossed his mind – rare books, wines, silks – and Hans watched as his brother's imagination crafted them a small fortune. He wasn’t looking forward to carting it all back to the ship, but he also supposed he should probably try out a couple of wishes himself. It was just a case of what to wish for. Albrecht seemed to have all the money-making things covered, and he didn’t want anything too bulky or hard to manoeuvre through the ship.

Would it be possible to create something alive Hans wondered? The Jaunty Clipper had had a vermin problem for a while, and it tended to get lonely out in space for months on end, with only his brother for company. He knew it didn’t need to be like that either, just the two of them – he remembered the days when they were kids, out on their mother’s tug as she rescued the scuppered ships. Those trips took weeks, and she was always busy, but there was always a warm bundle of fur to curl up with. They’d left the Sol system far behind them though, far enough that a proper Earth-cat had been out of the question for years. And none of the alien versions now available to them had ever really felt the same.

But now…

Hans fixed his mind on the idea of his new cat. Large and fluffy, like a Maine Coon. Dark grey fur, with golden eyes. A hunter, a cuddler.

And he wishes.

There was a pop, and the cat appeared.

And went limp.

He realised his mistake as Albrecht looked up, frustration flashing across his face. “You could wish for anything, and you wish for a cat. And you even forget there’s no atmosphere,” Albrecht sighed. “It’s a good thing I’ve got us both covered then. You can start getting this back to the ship for me then,” he gestured to the pile of goods he’d created. “It’s the least you could do.”

Hans stared his brother down as Albrecht ignored him and turned back to creating his gold. All he’d wanted was a companion. And he’d messed up and it’d died, and his brother hadn’t even cared. Screw his brother. Albrecht had never really cared for him, had always treated him like dead weight except for when he’s the packhorse. Screw him.

Hans decided that maybe he could still have his cat, only he was going to have one better adapted to space. He didn’t think too much about what that meant, but he knew that they’d be clever, and fast, and they’d survive. And he wishes they were real and he wishes his brother will regret spurning him.

A hundred eyes blink into existence.

His brother disappears under a pile of fur and tentacles.

The eyes look up at Hans, hunger unsatiated.

Hans starts running.

**3.**

Chalk. _Check._ Dribbley candles, seven of. _Check._ Incense. _Check._ Ritual dagger. _Check._ Robes, black and hooded. _Check._ Protective amulets and charms, as required. _Check._

Baim in the ascension in the tenth quadrant, and Vrau, Straon, Isaul and Fer in trans-rotary concordance in the… what was it? Nelyn scanned hastily down the grimoire page looking for the right diagram, their finger skimming over the sigils and summoning circles and wards for later. It took longer than they’d like to find the star diagram, crammed into the lower right corner as it was and squeezed between the instructions for the glyph for Protection from Inter-dimensional Diseases and the Sign of the Thirteen. But yes, that was it, trans-rotary concordance in the sixth sector, and bisecting the linear convergence of Phiquc, Phaum and Wiac.

They squinted through the sextant they’d set up against the window. Baim was still a few degrees too low, but everything else was already in position. They had maybe half a tick before everything was in alignment. Just enough time to get everything set up then. Nodding to themselves, they pulled the blind down and hopped off the table, tugging their robes on over their head as they went. They’d had them cleaned especially – they always seemed to get candle wax in the hems and they wanted to look their best for their first summoning of a Lesser daemon. They’d only done Minors so far and while it was still a long way to go before they could try even a Moderate let alone a Major or Greater or Noble, it was still the next step along the road. This had been months of preparation, learning names and roles and choosing which of the Court they wanted to try for most, and then having to wait until everything came into alignment.

The robe cuffs barely skimmed their wrists and they realised they could see their ankles. Oh. Maybe they should have let Mum let the hems out after all. Well, it’d have to wait now, they supposed. Mum had warned them, and they’d ignored that and they’d just have to live with it. Speaking of Mum, they could hear her puttering around upstairs above the basement, keeping busy and waiting to hear how the summoning went. She’d asked if she could help, but Nelyn had wanted to do this themself. Mum had had decades of doing this and had had dealings with pretty much all of the court by this point, Minor all the way up to Regal even, and Nelyn didn’t want their first Lesser summoning to be easier just because the Pontifex Maxima Daemoniacus was involved and their daemon was too compliant as they couldn’t oppose the Pontifex. This was supposed to be Nelyn’s work and Nelyn’s alone.

Nelyn who was currently wasting time.

Well, they really should get a move on then, shouldn’t they? They didn’t have forever.

Everything was ready, so they began with lighting the incense, letting the peppery, earthy scented smoke fill the room. Next was the summoning circle, drawn in white chalk, ten paces in diameter. Nelyn had scratched the outline out into the concrete that morning, not wanting to chance drawing something too ovular, and their chalk slid smoothly over their line, never once wavering as they recounted the Invocation of Imbuing.

The guarding and binding rites were next, a pair of heptagons, one inscribed within the circle and one enclosing it, and Nelyn repeated the task of tracing out the diagram they’d prepared with the words needed. The sigils that went with them were placed next, traced out in chalk and sealed with a smear of blood from their fingertip, cut with a spare blade. Then the candles, placed at each point of the interior heptagon and light.

Nelyn flicked off the light switch, watching the peaks of orange light spring up on the walls from the flames. The room seemed to grow in the dark, the grey concrete retreating into the shadows, cloaked in a smoky haze of incense. Nelyn stepped up to the summoning circle, feeling the power thrumming through it. It was still fairly quiet compared to what it would become, a light purring rather than the bestial roaring it would be. But it lay there, warm and waiting and ready. They grinned. It was all going to plan so far.

They stepped across to the sextant again, watching as Baim crept slowly upwards through the eyepiece. It was just seconds of a degree off being in place by this point. Nelyn willed it onwards, watched as it slid into place.

There was a crash outside, metal hitting metal as something came clattering down behind the house next door. Nelyn squinted through the narrow window, trying to work out what was going on as the sound of someone shouting started up. They could see a couple of dark silhouettes moving across a street lamp, but nothing clear. And no, they didn’t have time to pry, Baim was in position.

They needed to get a move on.

They slammed the blind down again and took their position at the summoning circle, knife in hand. To their right lay the grimoire, open to the invocation. This was it.

_“Davatch. Karvani. Marmarnos.”_

The knife glid across their palm, bringing a line of red to the surface. Nelyn watched as the blood quickly pooled, waiting until it painted the entire flat of their hand crimson and then knelt, pressing it into the summoning circle. Around them the candles flared, once, sharp.

_“I, Nelyn, Novitiate of the Aedis Ars Demonica; I, of the Line of Trevaris, in the House of Myrmis, unbroken for sixteen generations; I of the Coven of the Sunless Day and the Moonless Night. I who hold in my Court Brallmarith of the Crimson Wave-Crest, and Korgural of the Torn Nails, and Sarkath Bright-Wing._

_“I invoke the Pact of the Twelve Thousand, written by the Thirteen and the Seven and the Three and the Circle of Ishkaar, and bound in the blood of Alaris Telekanon.”_

A gust of wind set the candles guttering and the hairs on the back of Nelyn’s neck raising. They could feel the temperature dropping, their breath steaming into clouds and goosebumps itching up and down their arms. They tried not to shiver as they shifted into a warmer position, hunching in their robes, fine grey sand rolling under their knees. The walls of the basement were gone. Not not visible in the candlelight, but gone, replaced by an endless grey desert that blended into a navy sky at the distant horizon. Above them, alien constellations lay but Nelyn didn’t look up. They didn’t have the time to spare. Nor the bravery to risk breaking the magic now, here.

Somewhere, far away, there was the sound of breaking glass, stone clattering against concrete.

Nelyn’s breath fluttered in their throat, candles flickering with every gasping breath. They pushed on.

_“I request parley with Ul’gath of the Following-Smoke, Lesser Demon of the Ninteenth Ring, of the Clan Ilvoron. Ul’gath who is known as Black-Horn, and Sharp-Claw, Fast-Tail. Ul’gath who changes the wind, who makes sure ashen embers chase wherever you stand, whatever the fire. Ul’gath who causes the itching eyes and coughing mouths.”_

A shadow on the other side of the circle, a small form that stalked on the edge of the candlelight. Nothing should be in the Meeting Grounds, not without being called, Nelyn gulped. But no, looking, it was gone again. They must have imagined it. They must have. No time to worry. It was a trick of the mind.

_“Parley I request!”_

For a moment, Nelyn thought they had failed, but then they heard the words that were not sounds, a ringing not-voice thundering in their ears.

**I ACCEPT AND I COME.**

The candles flashed white, blinding Nelyn for a moment as they failed to close their eyes quickly enough. As their vision returned, the candles were out, gently smoking, but the circle was glowing now. Their hand ached as the magic tugged on their blood drawing it out quicker now, but Nelyn kept it pressed against the circle, watching as a faint silhouette began to appear within.

It was short but stocky, a deep mauve leathery hide stretched over jutting bone that framed lumpen arms and sturdy legs. Its face was pointed, its eyes deep-set, and its mouth hidden behind a mass of squirming tentacles. Two dark, polished horns rose from its brow, spiralling down past its jowls to sharp double points.

Nelyn watched as the translucent form slowly started to turn opaque, muttering a protection spell under their breath. All they had to do now was wait, and not cut off the magic.

Something nudged their foot, something warm and fluffy rubbing up against their legs and then their arms. Nelyn looked down, seeing Mr. Tibbles, the cat from next door.

How had he got in?

They didn’t have time to worry, as the cat was peering curiously at the forming demon in the circle. Nelyn tried to hold it back, but it was hard to do that one-handed, and they were getting tired now.

Mr. Tibbles stepped forwards.

Nelyn hadn’t guarded against intrusions from outside the circle. That wasn’t normally a problem.

Mr. Tibbles stepped into the circle.

Something happened.

Nelyn had no idea how to describe it afterwards, but it seemed somewhat like seeing a series of still images with no transition between them. There was Mr. Tibbles and Ul’gath of the Following-Smoke together in the summoning circle, separate, and then there was a series of beings that were both of them and neither of them. A small, hairless, horned, purple cat; a leathery beast with cat ears; Ul’gath’s body with Mr. Tibbles’ head; a centaur-like merging of Ul’gath’s upper half onto a cat’s body. More and more that Nelyn couldn’t describe faster and stranger and more horrifying with every change.

And then, at some point Nelyn passed out.

They woke back in their basement, a cat’s head nudging at their side. They petted it absent-mindedly as they blearily looked around the room, taking in the fallen candles and smudged chalk lines that now flared away from the center of the summoning circle where a dark scorch mark had appeared. Under the window where they’d set the sextant up was a scattering of broken glass and a heavy rock. Nelyn supposed that was how Mr. Tibbles had gotten in.

Nelyn realised they should probably check what Mr. Tibbles now was.

Looking down, it didn’t seem too bad at first. He-it still had its old head, cat-shaped with one ratty ear and dark grey fur, but below the neck… It was tentacles, eight of them, furred on the upper half, and covered in dark suckers on the lowers. It made popping noises as it scuttled left and right, wriggling happily as Nelyn petted its head.

They snatched their hand away, crawling backwards from it. It drooped a little, hunching down and then scurried away, disappearing through the broken window into the outside world.

Nelyn realised then what problems they might have just caused, bonding demon into a cat and then releasing it into the wild. They needed to talk to Mum. Now.

**4.**

Alveith sighed as the light on the lock flashed red again. Xe pulled the card out and flipped it back over, sliding it into the slot slowly and wiggling it around a bit. The light flashed red again. Card out, and in again, quick this time and pulled instantly out. Red light. In slowly, out slowly. Red light. A low growl rose in xir throat as xe rested xir head against the door and just took slow breaths until xir forehead spines had stopped twitching.

Checking the instructions on the back of the card again was unhelpful. All it said was to insert the card in slowly and then to remove it and the door would open. Xe’d tried that. Repeatedly.

Xe looked up and down the corridor and wished there was someone to ask. But no, it was empty as far as xir eyes could see, just door after door after door, lit by flickering strip lighting and flanking the grubby blue carpet that was just clean enough to get a vague idea of the original eye-ache inducing pattern. Xe throat growled again.

Red light. Red light. Red light…

Alveith was about to give up and go ask reception for help when xe sensed the tremble of an approaching cart. Soon xe could hear it, and then xe spotted it, rolling out of a side corridor, laden with cleaning supplies. Behind it was a beleaguered looking Xenetonian, their throat fronds a tired mottled grey, the green jumpsuit they wore splattered with fresh stains-to-be. Alveith waved them down, smiling apologetically.

“Hi?” Xe tried starting. “I uh… I can’t get into my room? I’ve tried following the instructions.”

The cleaner rolled their eye. “You need to lift the handle first.”

Alveith tried this, pulling the handle up before inserting the card and removing it. The light blinked green and the door clicked open. “Thanks!”

“Sure.”

The cleaner trundled off as Alveith wedged the door open with a foot, the door card held delicately in xir mandibles, and xe picked up their luggage bags. The straps cut into xir flesh, nestling quickly into the dark grooves it had pressed out on the trip over, transferring through the spaceport, into customs and then transit over here for the night. It had been a long active-cycle. It wasn’t much further to carry it though, just shuffling around the heavy door that seemed determined to close on xem, and then dropping them onto the top of the nesting pit. The two straining holdalls made a soft thump as they settled into the gravel, and Alveith sighed as xe ran a hand through the pebbles, digging down to see the course pink sand underneath. Xe didn’t know where all these places got their bedding from but it always seemed to be this eternally itchy, cheap stuff. Not that xe should have expected better, this was pretty much the cheapest place xe had been able to find to stay near the port and it showed. The blinking and hissing bare bulb above xem, the glare of neon signs through the faded net curtains, xe could feel the rattling of the cars along the motorway outside, and even hear the whine of engines from it. It was the best xe could pay for though, inter-planetary haulage didn’t come with a particularly fat paycheck. Still, a night out of the ship cabin was still appreciated whenever xe could afford to treat xemself, and a trip to the Gamma quadrant was definitely the time for a treat. Even with the new wormhole route, shipping out to Rakhar was going to be a long time flying alone.

Xe smoothed xir forehead spines down again and took a seat on the sofa. Checking xer clock, xe had about a dozen ticks before xe needed to ship out again, and only eight of those would be needed for hypnody. About four to kill then.

Alveith automatically reached for the holoscreen remote. Flicking it on, xe watched a couple of colourful blobs slowly resolve themselves into a host and a couple of guests on some sort of conflict resolution programme. Xe didn’t entirely follow what was going on, but watching a little, it seemed to involve a starship, the freehold of an uninhabited moon, a pregnant pureblooded Cassadonian White Hair and twelve turkey sandwiches. Xe gave up.

Chanel surfing didn’t find anything much better, just the standard post-late-fringe drivel – reruns of reality shows, ‘celebrities’ schmoozing with each other and playing out bratty, staged fights with each other, or ordinary folks being exploited into being awful to each other for a miserably small pay-out, or some show glorifying dealers tricking people out of their money, lowballing their buys and highballing their sales and expecting a laugh; a couple of decades-old horror movies, the effects clunky and obvious, but in the public domain; a talk-show or two with entirely unfunny hosts; and a couple of local programs that aren’t even subtitled in Standard, so xe couldn’t even watch even if they were interested in what seems to be local sports league results. Alveith jumped between them, never watching more than a moment of each, and dreading having to pick one to watch. There wasn’t anything else to do.

Another couple of channels tried, and it was starting to look like an early night for xem or else a couple of hours watching the infomercials when xe finally found something. The programme was just starting, a bright flashing red title page filling the holoscreen, announcing _The Furry Death On Eight Legs: Octokittens – Fact, Fiction, Reality?_ It seemed interesting enough, the presenter a chipper young human with blond hair and a glimmering smile who introduced himself as Nathan Raine, wondering across a rocky seafront as wind whipped his hair across his face. He never stopped smiling though, even as a pair of holographic terrors appeared next to him, a mass of black tentacles and fur and gleaming red eyes and glinting white fangs.

“Octokittens. From Dagobah to Kanda IV to New Constantinople, there are tales of these creatures. Carnivorous hunters, creatures of the dark depths of space, able to strip their prey to bones in mere seconds. There are some sectors where they are the bogymen who scare children – tales of the Beast of Culchuthian who eats naughty Culthars that don’t finish their dago fruit – and there are some sectors where they are attributed as the cause of the slaughter of entire cities – such as at Paramat. There are even rare tales of beasts fitting their description being worshipped as gods in places such as New Quinos and Garhan VI. However, there are few tales of those who have actually met them.

“Today, I will travel to meet the biggest experts on these elusive creatures, and try to establish exactly what we know about them. Whether they’re real. Whether all these stories refer to the same beasts. Where they might have come from.

“We’ll travel from Zantine on New Constantinople, to Rhufaingofod which was the heart of the Rhufenig Empire to the ruins of Paramat on Premis XVII, examining reputed first-hand accounts of these creatures and the horrors they are supposed to be capable of. With this, we’ll then turn to the question of how such a creature could have come about. Whether its existence is purely natural, or whether there is something _responsible_ for these creatures.

“All this on _The Furry Death On Eight Legs: Octokittens – Fact, Fiction, Reality?”_

A discordant tone played as the scene blacked out, and then switched to an advert break. Alveith growled and used the time to pour a glass of water from the bathroom tap. It was warm and chalky, but it was a drink, xe sipped at it at the adverts finished and Nathan Raine returned to narrate some accounts of the supposed octokittens from history. There was a captain's log from a Rose Red behemoth, designation KCRR-KHMCLXI, which had supposedly reported a stowaway that was described as ‘small, leaves large quantities of shed black fur and slime. Nest has been located, filled with small animal bones and metallic objects.’ A few days later, with reports of tentacled masses moving in the shadows, crew members began to go missing, then one day, the entire ship just went missing. There were plenty of cheesy re-enactments of the story shown with the narration, women in cheap red wigs and grey jumpsuits firing bright CGI shots into the darkness as hundreds of red eyes appeared to swarm. A handful of supposed academics, all from some of the small asteroid colleges appeared to give suppositions as to what exactly might have happened, describing the ship succumbing to a mass of hungry octokittens that then vanished into nowhere. It was almost believable, Alveith felt, not like the scene painted of an angry senator using gifts of octokittens as assassination tools, quickly culling most of the political elite of the Rhufenig Empire and causing it to topple, all without detection as the pets were never under suspicion, not without outside corroboration of their danger. That idea, mooted by a professor of the Academy of Gradus Molendini seemed a little too ridiculous, though Alveith really didn’t know enough to decide.

Anyway, eventually, Raine moved on to discussing possible origins for the octokittens. He started by meeting with a Dr Fortuna, anthropologist, who had apparently promised something special. Raine met her in a plain red lined room, a case between them covered by a black cloth. As the two of them made small talk, Raine explaining Fortuna’s background in the study of cryptids and their origins, Alveith shifted restlessly in xir seat, absentmindedly cleaning their mandibles. The program was a time-passer but not much more. Still, it beat waiting around.

“So Dr Fortuna, you asked me here because you said you had managed to obtain a complete octokitten skeleton? The only known one in existence?” Raine asked on the holoscreen.

Dr Fortuna nodded, her grey hair bobbing loosely around her face. “Yes. It took a lot of searching, almost thirty years, but I did eventually manage to find records of an octokitten supposedly being displayed in a carnival on Earth many centuries ago. With more searching, I managed to find the remains of their display. Here.”

She tugged at the cloth over the cage, smoothly pulling it off to reveal the skeleton inside. Alveith leaned forward, squinting to try and make out the details. The skeleton was a pale cream, heavily bleached to almost a grey-white. The skull was large, segmented, a long pointed crown arrayed above a feline face, and below that was wired hundreds of tiny, delicate bones. A neck transitioned snake-like into a ribcage and below that a broad pelvis with eight slots, with eight snaking, tapered lines of bones coming out. Raine gushed over the display, complimenting the preservation and pointing out the sharp, shark-like teeth that lined the gaping mouth. “They look formidable. Certainly capable of the sorts of feats which have been described.”

“Well, they might,” Dr Fortuna grinned, the camera cutting to a close up of her face, triumph gleaming in her eyes. “if this was _a real creature.”_

“Not a real creature?” the shock on Raine’s face matched Alveith’s as the presenter stumbled for words.

Dr Fortuna steamrolled on. “Indeed. DNA analysis of the skeleton has revealed that it is composed of no fewer than six different creatures – Felis Catus, Ophiophagus Hannah, Carcharodon Carcharias, Cladoselache Kepleri, Amphioctopus Marginatus and Xystocheir Rueppelliae. Parts of these creatures have been attached together to form this skeleton for display as entertainment.”

Alveith felt xir interest grow. The programme had been so certain that octokittens were real. The documented sightings of them seemed reputable and convincing. It was illogical to set things up this way only to pull the carpet out on everything. Surely there must be another reveal coming.

Dr Fortuna wasn’t going to concede immediately though, continuing on. “The practice was fairly common on Earth at times, creating fantasy creatures by stitching together terrestrial ones. Commonly this involved making mermaids out of monkeys sown to fishes, or seadevils out of sea rays. Clearly, this extended to the octocat or octokitten.”

“Gaff taxidermy,” Raine nodded, “yes I’ve heard of it. And you’re certain it’s the case here?”

Dr Fortuna rose an eyebrow. “Of course. The DNA evidence doesn’t lie.”

Alveith shook xir head, mirroring her on the screen.

Raine looked thoughtfully, scratching at his beard. “Well, that does put a dampener on my hunt for them. I had hoped finding a specimen would be a solid start. I’m just surprised – the amount of documentary evidence we have for them is startling! They can’t just be a taxidermy hoax can they?”

“On the other hand, given how widespread these stories are, it is surprising that no physical evidence for the existence of octokittens has been found. This would strongly suggest that they _don’t_ exist. Or else, there is something real in the stories, but they have become greatly exaggerated and corrupted in the retellings.”

Raine nodded. “I’ll have to hope that’s true,” he grinned suddenly as he stared down the camera, “because after the break I’ll be taking another look at possible origins for this creature!”

The stream cut away to adds again, and in the emptiness, Alveith realised xe had begun kneading at the fabric of the sofa. Xe were… hooked. It was surprising, but pleasing to actually be enjoying the time-passer. Xe went to take a sip of xir drink and realised it had been emptied without xem noticing. Never mind, xe had time, the ad breaks ran on here as everywhere. Getting up, xe felt xir back creak, the joints in xir torso straining. Stretching and checking the time, xe realised it was because three ticks had already passed. The program was only halfway through… xe could deal with a little less sleep tonight, xe decided. Xe wasn’t going to miss anything.

A fresh glass of water procured, and Raine back on, Alveith watched intently as expert after expert appeared with their theories on the octokittens. A professor from Io suggested a transporter accident, merging an ordinary octopus and a cat together. A doctor from Nifelheim suggested that they were the result of an Atlantian breeding program when the island returned from being trapped in an interdimensional proto-universe. A third expert thought also that the octokittens were bred as pets but by giant sentient octopi, modifying cats to be more like them. Another thought they were the result of military bioengineering to create spy animals. One proposed they were the offspring of a very unlikely romantic partnership. Another that they were the cursed creations of an elder god.

Alveith was rubbing xir glands by this point, both wanting to turn in and wanting to watch more. Xe persisted though, watching as Raine was growing more and more enthusiastic about each of the theories, even as they seemed to get more and more incredible. Finally, as Alveith could barely stand anymore, the scene switched so that Raine was stood in a lightly wooded valley, a young man with a scraggly beard next to him. A card identified the guest as Tonlep Quark.

“We have come back to Earth, here to the outskirts of the ancient city of Geneva to meet a man who has a very interesting theory about the origins of the octokittens,” Raine started as he walked down the valley, the camera panning with him until it showed a few crumbling walls and broken girders sprouting from the leaf-litter of a hefty oak tree. “You see, many centuries ago, millennia before the Moon-loss and the catastrophes this caused, the decimation of the local population and the destruction of nearly all surface infrastructure, the people on this planet – proto-humans – used base and primitive methods to explore the world around them.

“Without today’s quantum scalpels and quadscanners and graviton computers, they resorted to brute force methods. Here, in the hundreds of miles of tunnels under our feet, that meant accelerating particles to great speed and colliding them together and measuring the explosions. At least, that was the official purpose of this site. However, Quark believes he has discovered a deeper, secret reason these facilities were buil–”

Quark pushed past Raine, cutting in. “We have evidence. Good documented evidence that these facilities were used for creating unnatural species,” he spoke fast, one word barely ending before he started on the next, rattling off syllables like he expected to be silenced. With each sentence, he chopped one hand against his other palm, punctuating each full stop. “They created platypuses like that – used the accelerators to merge ducks and beavers. How else would you get something like a platypus? A mammal with a beak that lays eggs? Not possible. Unnatural. Clearly created. And we have documented evidence of this!

“And I believe, the octokittens must have been the same! Made here, in the collider by scientists! They must hav–”

Alveith switched the holoscreen off mid-sentence. Xe couldn’t believe what xe were hearing. This sort of conspiracy theory, broadcast as viable truth? The History channel was really going downhill these days.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're wondering what you just read *I'm wondering what I just wrote.* anyway, thanks to Bek and Blue on the mechscord for the 'sentient octopi bred the octokittens from cats' and 'octokittens were beings cursed by elder gods' theories


End file.
